Solitude

I cried for it at midnight
just to be done with it,
enough is enough, after all.

I tried to cry for it at six
but the sun was just setting behind old steel mills, the sky
resplendent in red-ochre and deep violet,
my eyes in tears from sulphurous air.

I nearly cried at noon, when the sun
made a brief appearance, illuminated gray hills and houses,
then disappeared behind the gray banks
as though frightened by what it saw.

At misty dawn I began to cry
for another lost night, my mind lost
in labyrinths of doubt and desire.
Then the lightened sky called
to me, insisted that this was the very day,
the fine moment of now
from which I might transform
all of reality, meet the people I am meant to know,
find the perfect spot to sit and sip potent liquids
ponder sun and sky and self until they swirl
in a favored dance that will end at midnight.